What You Don't
by tFantasyFan
Summary: Apparently Usopp's not the only one who questions his worth.


_Sanji/Usopp, blatantly paired. Don't say I didn't say anything. I've been finding old fic everywhere today.  
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_Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

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Usopp's not quite sure what to think of the situation at hand, it being one of much heat and confusion and foul-mouthed mutters from his- his- well, Sanji is definitely not going to be the sidekick so he guesses he'll concede to it just this once and call him a knight in shining armor or a prince or whatever the hell he WANTS to be called, as long as that hand unzipping his shorts keeps doing what it's been doing.

There's a rather sharp pain somewhere on his bottom lip, no doubt a result of the chef's very unexpected attack on his mouth and chest and other far more personal areas- with a lit cigarette still held firmly in his mouth, naturally, and Sanji (at some point between grumbling about Usopp's hair getting in the way and then tangling his fingers up in it not five seconds later, like it was some kind of holy lifeline) apologizes for the burn by doing something very interesting with his tongue indeed. Any loud complaints on Usopp's part at this point disintegrate into something akin to very fine gunpowder, perhaps to be rekindled later or maybe to dampen and become useless; it doesn't really matter to him which result comes to pass because he's too busy throwing his head back and probably concussing himself on canned peaches of all things.

The peaches are saved from an undue fate on the pantry floor by the foot of Sanji and oh god how had he gotten his leg into that position, wait, that didn't matter either- or at least it didn't matter how flexible he was this time around, and the thought of Sanji being the sidekick of sorts next time is enough to make Usopp's fingers tighten painfully on those thin shoulders. He gets a little hiss for all his efforts and then Sanji's pulling away like he's on fire- and damn if Usopp isn't sure if he's on fire or not, he feels hot enough to burn right through the planks of the floor as it is- wait, pulling away?

Usopp's mouth lets out something between a pitiful moan and a querying grunt and he manages to find that one visible eye from his comfortable position between the peaches, the floor, Sanji and his raging hormones. They both pant and stare for a few seconds and Sanji looks like just about the most gorgeous thing Usopp's ever seen, ridiculous eyebrow and all and he'll have to remember to sketch that burning look out later on: even tinted as it is by the light of anger and uncertainty and the frustration of one who's just remembered something very important to be done.

So he tries that moan-grunt thing again and then manages a half intelligible "Whazrong?"

Sanji's fingers, now that they aren't occupied with what Usopp considers to be far more important things, take to methodically unbuttoning his shirt, worrying at the buttons like it's some kind of nervous habit.

"I don't," the cook grinds out at long last, eyes focused on his hands, "have a hat."

Because that isn't confusing in the least. "A hat," Usopp repeats breathlessly, just to be sure.

"Yeah. I don't have a beat-up shitty straw hat to put on your head or- or a sword to protect you with, even though you should take care of your damn self, and I don't have tangerines or medicine when you're sick and there's no way in hell I can listen to every story you tell without interrupting- because I don't have enough fucking patience to do that, okay?"

"Sanji-"

"I don't have a ship to give you either, not that I can see why I'd bother giving you a perfectly good ship, you'd probably just crash it without Nami-san there to help-"

"Oi, Sanji-"

The fingers move up to his collar and clutch at it firmly. "I don't have a damn thing to give you, so I'm just letting you know before you start whining about it like a shithead- so don't go around expecting anything, okay?"

Usopp, for all those damn hormones, can still somewhat understand that Sanji's trying to say something important to him. And he thinks he gets the gist of what it's all about, too. "Yeah, well, I know that," he says, mustering up enough audacity to flick Sanji right on the curly eyebrow. He looks away after that, maybe a little sheepish. "I don't have any of those things either, you know?"

Sanji pauses, stares at him like he's never seen him before for a few long seconds.

Then he dives back in for a kiss and his hands get back to that important thing they'd been doing earlier.


End file.
